The Moral Ascension of Kenny McCormick
by Sifl-senpai
Summary: This is both an introspective look at Kenny as he struggles to understand the curse of his immortality as well as a not-so-subtle satire on shipping South Park characters. The big joke is that there is no slash even though the setup's primed for it.
1. Imagination

**_The Moral Ascension of Kenny McCormick_**

_Prologue: Imagination_

Is it any wonder that he loved it? He loved to jump around in the dark with no regard for anybody's safety, like there was no consequence if he fell and hurt himself because nobody could fall after him or worry over him because he was all alone- a free agent. There were no repercussions for anything when he wore the cape and the hood.

When he was Mysterion, Kenny McCormick was absolutely free.

Well, okay, he wore underwear on the outside of his tights, so he was a little constricted, but he had been talking free as in free on an emotional scale, not a physical one. His balls were still beginning to itch, though, and it annoyed the crap out of him- he couldn't just scratch them; Mysterion would never scratch himself there in public- that was a real Kenny thing to do and if he did really Kenny things as Mysterion and really mysterious Mysterion things as Kenny, that would wreck the whole purpose of his heroic alter-ego and jeopardize his amusement with it.

And that would just suck. Kenny and Mysterion were meant to be two different entities. He knew that consciously splitting himself in two was one of the first steps to going crazy (there were many paths going that way, after all!), but what else could he do?

See, isn't it just so much fun to play pretend and let your imagination consume you? Kenny McCormick knew that, in a weird way, the infatuation he had with being his alter ego was akin to the one other people had with drugs. He knew it well 'cause he'd done them- but that didn't really matter to him because, unlike the unknown quality of certain illegal substances, he could be _anything _if he used his own brain and he'd never have to set foot in Imaginationland- neither the real one nor the hallucinated one. Instead, he just used some _real imagination_ to cloak himself in the dark mantle of "a hero his town needed" and do death-defying feats like they were actually something amazing and not something that Kenny McCormick could perform on a daily basis with no risk of lasting consequences. What's more, other people paid attention.

As a hero, he hid from hoards of attention-givers who could find him without him ever leaving the shadows. As a boy, he basked in the lack of concern for himself by others in broad daylight.

Screw Miley Cyrus- Kenny had the best of both worlds and he didn't even have to sell his soul to the Disney Corporation get it. Good thing, too- that mouse is a freaking asshole and the purity rings he hawks are shit. Mickey may have inadvertently gotten one of Kenny's many lives, but he had never laid a gloved hand on his soul.

His soul.

Did Kenny even have a soul? Who knows! A soul is supposed to be the one thing about a person that is of real eternal worth because it exists beyond the limit of the flesh. Not that anybody's got any hard proof that they exist, not even Kenny- the only hard thing he had was some hardcore porn. All _that_ could illustrate was some awesome flesh that he was rather bummed would one day cease to exist.

He was especially bummed about that because, no matter what, Kenny's own flesh did _not_ cease to exist- he could not die. He was immortal.

Thusly, fascinations of the flesh leads us back to the earlier discussion- if Kenny's body was immortal, what was the point of his soul? His flesh would outlast it, at the rate it was going, and then what? Would he be stuck in an afterlife with individuals who had serious boners for spiritual connections while he was the only asshole stuck there with a _real _boner- emphasis on real- for connections of the flesh?

Man, it would suck royally. _Real_ damnation without relief, regardless of whether he went to heaven or hell.

So, Kenny has a body. Mysterion has a heart. Nobody knows if either has a soul, or whether or not the theoretical soul is a separate entity from that made of man-meat (or little ten-year-old-boy meat, whatever) or just the same thing that can take on several forms, like a fudgecicle can become fudgesludge and then be fudged up in your bowels and excreted as a gas. It's all still just the same fudge, just different.

Kenny didn't know and Kenny didn't care, and besides their imminent immortality, that was the one thing he had in common with Mysterion- Mysterion only cared about his "purpose".

It would have all been fine that way if Eric Cartman hadn't forced Kenny to give up the ghost- so to speak- of Mysterion and reveal himself, because then Mysterion lost the _mystery_ part- and as cool as the name "Ion" would have been to take up from what was left over after "Myster" had been stripped (What? There wasn't a "y" to take away, so "y" bother with it?), it wouldn't have done any good because Kenny and his other half were just rolled into one no matter what name he took. The secret was out and the symbiotic relationship of Mysterion-and-Kenny collapsed. That ruined everything.

Cartman is such an ass.

And then Kenny got antsy and started asking himself these annoying metaphysical questions ("What is my purpose?" was bad enough on its own!) that make him go batshit crazy because they are irritating as hell- and Kenny totally knew how irritating Hell was because he'd been there, too. Mysterion with the heart had infused with Kenny's body (thanks, asswipe Cartman) and unfortunately, neither of them had had half a mind to invest a brain into the other, so they hadn't a damn clue as to whether or not the entity of themselves had a soul or not. So much for putting two-and-two together.

Oh, and thanks to Bradley, he still didn't have a damn clue as to why he could not die. The little shit hadn't even left a trail of cereal crumbs to follow, so Kenny was left totally stranded in limbo.

'Cause that's what South Park was, sometimes- limbo! Never go up, never go down- never leave the town. South Park was it. South Park was Kenny's whole little world.

He could play pretend here, and he could look at porn here, and he could play with friends here, and he could never leave here. It was like Shangri-La, except he aged and the townsfolk weren't all young and gorgeous- Eric Cartman was real ugly, for example, and Wendy Testaburger was real flat.

…What was going to happen when Kenny got so decrepit as to die of old age? Would he be doomed to forever drift off and come back and then die again? Would he be stuck in a continuous cycle of that instant that his brain shuts down before his body fails, like a continuous sleep draped in white? That's a real nothingness. Kenny had experienced it before during his slower deaths. Was that the eternity awaiting him?

Eh, it didn't really matter. He was just all pissed that he couldn't hide his identity in Mysterion anymore because, at the time, that was his new, big thing.

The Coon- Eric Cartman, rather; you'd have to be a moron to not know the answer to the question, "Who is the Coon?"- had managed to ruin all of his fun and it _infuriated_ Kenny.

Come to think of it, Eric Cartman had been hitting up Kenny as the victim of his shenanigans with rising frequency as of late. Could it be that he was growing tired of Kyle Broflovski?

Well! Kenny was just going to have to be a much better nemesis than Kyle was. Cartman was conditioned to outright confrontation from the fiery redhead, but he hadn't dealt with Mysterion-Kenny's passive-aggressive retaliations very smoothly.

So, theoretically, if Ken never had flat-out battles with the oppressive (in both weight and presence) other boy, he would piss Cartman off _so much_. Not only would that be damn hysterical, he could _beat_ the fat asshole that way. So long as Cartman failed in the end (not even making a kid emotionally scarred forever by flawlessly having his parents killed and mixed into his chili had given him success- Eric had to face the fact that he was half-ginger _and _he'd accidentally killed his own dad), Kenny would be victorious. Any other weird shit that hit the fan would be inconsequential because there is nothing Cartman could do to Kenny that Kenny had not already done to himself.

He was like Chuck Norris in that respect. If he mastered the roundhouse kick, giving Cartman the time of day might even become unnecessary- Kenny's awesomeness would far exceed Eric Cartman's deviousness without the impoverished boy ever having to do anything.

Unfortunately, Kenny was not Chuck Norris, so maybe the (useful as it was) passive-aggressive stance alone was not the way he could go. Combating Cartman was like combating AIDS- you had to switch drugs unexpectedly so that your body did not become dependent on one while the virus became immune to it. Kenny would be both belligerent and nonchalant as it suited him, never letting Cartman get a good grip on how he reacted. He'd be Uno's wildcard, so to speak- and he'd be the last uno standing.

Fatass wasn't the only one who could speak broken Spanish!

Even so, though, switching medicine doesn't eliminate HIV. The virus just sleeps inside, suppressed and unable to escape, but ready to spring forth and destroy you as soon as your guard is down. The virus was like Cartman in that once it got a hold on you, it would never let you go and you never know it's there until it is too late to prevent it.

Somehow, the HIV scenario was all too reminiscent of not only the toxicity of Eric Cartman but of the potency of the implication of the possible existence of Kenny's lost soul.

There are way too many unknowns in Kenny's life for his liking.

The best thing Ken could do to prepare for the questionable event of his spiritual awakening, then, was to be ready for both the discovery of his soul and its possible torment at the hands of Eric Theodore Cartman.

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><p>Hey, all! I actually don't know if I'll continue this, but it sure does feel nice to be back writing South Park- writing KENNY, no less! My head is also in The Legend of Zelda and Durarara! right now, so chapters for any of my stories will come out in an order with no rhyme or reason. Please notify me of any typos or gross misunderstandings (and minor wordplay confusion- I rely on puns and cheap gags and a childlike thought process to get my points across, so I realize this isn't going to be flawless) so I can better myself at writing in a simple style with a simple plan- I want to amuse you even in the "dark of night" with Kenny.<p>

Thank you for reading, and please feel free to review!

Also: WHO'S EXCITED THAT IT'S YEAR OF THE FAN? MEEEE! Can't wait for that behind-the-scenes documentary thing! Like, seriously!

I don't own South Park.


	2. It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding

_Part Two: It's a Nice Day for a White Wedding_

Turns out that Cartman had been hard at work planning his next big move- he burst into Stan's house and got right down to the point.

"You guys! You guys!"

"What is it?" That was Kyle, who, suspicious as he was of any source of Cartman's excitement, was still curious about whatever had gotten the larger boy's panties in a bunch.

"You guys, seriously! I know a great way we can win a trip to the most awesome place on earth!"

"What, are you trying a new way to break into Casa Bonita?"

"No, asshole, it's _better than that!"_

"Oh? So it's, like, what, Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory for you, fatass?"

"No! And I'm not fat, Jew!"

Kenny interjected with the suggestion of a nude beach in California with hot babes and starlets.

"No! Why would I want to get naked in front of a bunch of other people, dumbshit?"

Kenny grinned- it's not like Eric hadn't done it before. Besides, if the large boy had to _ask_ why, he'd never know. There was no use explaining it to him.

"Gah! Why are you assholes all so stupid?"

"You're the dumb one, dumbass."

Eric raised his eyebrows and they gave his fleshy face a quick lift. "Well, when I'm relaxing on a full-paid vacation in the Bahamas, you can all kiss my ass."

"Cartman," replied Stan, "You are not going to the Bahamas."

"Like hell I'm not! When I win the contest, I'll be lounging on a beach and making some douchebag craft me a damn martini out of gravy and French fries!"

The green flaps on Kyle's adorable hat perked up in a fashion that greatly resembled the ears of a puppy. "Poutine," he whispered.

"Yeah- and I'll get to swim in an ocean and be around babes with my clothes _on_, _Kenny_!"

Kenny snorted. The point of being around a babe was for both of you to _not_ have clothes on. Then again, now that they all knew about Little Hitler's, erm, _wiener_schnitzel length, the clothes might actually be a bonus for him.

Nah. Cartman was just a fag. And he had no idea how to coax Kenny into being his bitch against his own will.

Kyle, on the other hand, looked pretty whipped. Ever since Eric had mentioned the gravy and fries, he had been drooling like Pavlov's dog.

"What's the contest, Cartman?"

"Well, Kyle, I am so glad that you asked. Allow me to show you." He snatched up the remote from Stan, who had absentmindedly been flipping channels, and pressed a few numbers.

"TLC?" Stan blurted, unimpressed.

The voice on the television cut through the room. "Four Weddings! Four couples compete for the ultimate honeymoon!" Shots of tropical beaches and gorgeous resorts displayed themselves in tandem with the promotional announcer's monologue.

"See? See? The Bahamas!"

"Cartman, you actually expect us to compete with a wedding?"

"No, I expect us to _win_ with a wedding."

"What?"

"I don't think you understand. We are shoe-ins to win!"

Kyle looked at Eric like he'd grown another head. "No, Cartman, I don't think _you_ understand. This is a wedding. With brides. And marriage."

"Kyle." Here it comes- Kenny could feel it in the way Cartman laid out the redhead's name like it was the key to answering everything in the universe- the kicker! "Kyle, you don't realize how dumb these bitches are."

Okay, maybe Kenny had called "the kicker" prematurely. But they'd all be roped into it somehow in a second- Eric just had to ease them into it a little more.

As if on cue (which, in a way, it was), the other boys gave Eric a sidelong glance to which the rotund boy gave a small, exasperated exhalation. He then turned up the volume on the television like he had seen this coming (which he had.) "Just watch, you guys."

So they did.

"Why are they doing this?" Stan finally said.

"I dunno, dude, so they can have a major catfight on TV or something. Helps ratings."

"But aren't weddings supposed to be private? Like, isn't this added stress just-"

"And that's exactly why we can win it!" Eric exclaimed.

Stan looked over at him. "Huh?"

"Look, Stan, those morons on the show have two goals!" With a couple of fingers as a visual aid, Eric pointed out his flawless logic. "One- They want to get married and get all emotional." He bent down one digit. "Two- They want to have a beautiful day with for their non-competitive guests or some shit because they are girls." He put his second finger down and then whipped it out again to gesticulate accordingly. "And the _lowest_ priority is three- after _all _the other lovey-dovey crap, they want to win the prize."

As he spat out answers, the other boys absorbed them and sat in silence. They were all so intrigued at this point that they didn't notice that Eric had turned his dual goals into a trifecta.

"So?" Kyle finally asked.

"So, Kyle, _we_ do not _care_ about getting married or having emotional orgasms. _We_ do not _care_ about spending eternity together or pleasing inconsequential guests. _We_ are _men_. All of our energy is focused on the _prize_."

Kyle had a weird look on his face, like he was already won over but was just spouting arguments out of habit. "Cartman, we're ten."

"Nine," pitched in Stan.

"The point is that we aren't even legally allowed to get married."

In response, Eric held up his finger-pointing hand again. "Without parental consent."

Stan blanched.

"What are you saying?" dared Kyle.

"All we have to do is trick our parents into signing these documents that say that we can marry each other so we can go on the show. Then, once we win, we can dispose of them and pretend like nothing was signed, so we aren't legally married. It'll be fine, you guys." He had barely finished his speech when he pulled out a few official-looking papers from nowhere.

It very quickly became apparent that Stan was appalled. "Where did you get these?"

"Mayor's office. Broke in. Anyways, weddings happen in teams of two, of course. Stan and I will be one couple and Kyle and Kenny will be the other."

"Wait- if we can't all go, why should we enter?"

"Why should we enter even if we could?" Stan was uncharacteristically shaken. "I'm not doing this, Cartman."

In response, Eric held up his hands. "Whoa, one at a time. Kyle, whichever team wins sneaks the other two to the Bahamas in their suitcase. Piece of pie." He turned his attention to Stan. "Trying to overcompensate by pussying out at the thought of dressing like a girl?"

"What?"

"Stan, if you were comfortable with your sexuality, you would have no problem being in a dress."

"Cartman, that's not why-"

"Oh, so you don't mind being a girl? I always knew you were a pussy, but only a fag would be okay with being in drag."

"But you just said-!"

"So is the reason you aren't doing this because you aren't marrying Kyle?"

"No! I-"

"Jealous?"

"Gah, fatass, I-"

"So you admit it? I always knew you guys were fags."

Indeed, Stan's face was red, but any idiot could tell that it was not from romantic stimulation- Stan was absolutely livid.

"No, dumbass! You don't understand _anything_, do you?" His shout pierced the room- Kenny noticed that even Eric kept his next jibe mum. "Marriage is sacred- and _NO_, I'm not making some weird, Mr. Garrison-esque argument about gay people. It's fine with me if gays get married." He gave Eric an extra-hard glare. "The point is that a marriage should _not_ be a joke. Not ever. It shouldn't be just used like that- it's a _real_ commitment that you have to keep, not a means to some _shitty vacation!"_

To everyone's surprise, even Stan's, he had worked himself up so much from that outburst that he needed a moment to breathe.

"Dude," whispered Kyle.

Eric returned it. "Dude," he sucked in some air, "I thought Kyle or myself would make a better girl, but Stan, you just decided it for me. You'll be the bride."

_"WHAT?"_

"Stan, that's the kind of attitude that makes the other contestants like you. If we back that up," he pointed to his noggin, "with _this," _and then Kenny and Kyle, "and _this_, there's no way we can lose."

"Cartman, I said _no._"

Eric turned around for support. "Kenny, don't you agree with me?"

Honestly, Kenny didn't care. But he also felt like Stan's views needed some respect. And Cartman had recently gone on a streak of making Kenny the main victim of his asshattery, so...

So, Kenny told Eric that he was the most experienced at being in drag and therefore he should be the bride.

"That isn't funny, Kenny!"

With a chorus of grinding teeth, Stan agreed. "Yeah, it_ isn't_ funny. I'm leaving. You guys are so immature." He walked out the door and slammed it behind him.

Immediately, he stormed back in. "I forgot that this is my house," he seethed. "I'm going to my room. Leave me out of this." Again, he stopped and turned from the stairs. "I suggest you guys give this up."

"Whatever, Stan, we'll see what you say when we're in the Bahamas with gravy martinis and you're stuck at home sitting all alone with your Brian Boitano action figure to keep you company!"

Stan's bedroom door swiftly shot down Eric's attempt at conversation and simultaneously sounded off Kyle's doubts.

"Maybe he's right," he said.

Eric scoffed. "Well, whatever. I've got a replacement bride to take his place if he doesn't want to do it, so it doesn't matter."

"No, seriously, Cartman, Stan's got a point. It's wrong to take something so essential to our social structure and tear it down for personal gain-"

Kenny rolled his eyes. Kyle was going to do it. His pitiful and half-assed arguments were getting annoying because they were hardly taking them anywhere; he was just prolonging the inevitable. On the other hand, Ken knew that scenes like this were basically all the troubleshooting they needed to get Cartman's schemes off the ground. Besides, the "argumentative" stage of the two's relationship was probably what kept the Jew and Gentile together as friends.

Scratch the probably, it _was_.

Still, the back-and-forth was annoying regardless.

Eric's voice cut through Kenny's daydreaming. "They do it on national television all the time." Kyle bit his lip and Eric pushed some more. "Do you want to go to the Bahamas or not?"

Kyle gave one last, long look to Stan's room. "With conditions."

"Oh?"

"I do not kiss you or stay married to you."

With a small lift of his shoulders, Eric agreed.

"And also," Kyle hesitated, "Stan still comes with us if we win."

That one was harder for Eric to agree to- he made a face, rolled his eyes, and threw out about nineteen discontented, "uh!" noises like a miniature teenager before conceding. "Fine."

Finally, Eric included Kenny into the conversation. "Kenny? Are you in?"

He was. For now. They all left the Marsh residence in search of a new fourth wheel.

As the two half-gingers (in their own special ways, though only one of them looked it) walked on ahead of the boy in the orange parka and discussed wedding plans, Kenny thought up ways to impede his fat friend's new project. While Kenny himself didn't give a rat's ass about marriage and its sanctity, he felt that he owed it to Stan to respect it a little. Why? He wasn't sure. Maybe it was because Stan was quiet and passive like he was and saved his ire for things that really mattered to him.

Or maybe it was because the idea of Kyle and Cartman regularly teaming up was more than a little unsettling. _Stan_ had Kyle. That was the way it was because it had _always_ been that way to balance out Cartman- the redhead had the everlasting support of a best friend to back the goodness in his heart while the brunette had raw, ruthless drive (and lots of luck) to fulfill his own role of yin to yang. Then again, maybe it was just because Cartman was a dick.

Basically, Kenny may have told himself that his interest was only in biting Eric in his large ass, but truthfully, he knew that there was more to it than that- Kenny loved his friends too much to let them stray terribly far in the wrong direction.

You could say he loved them enough to die for them.

But what happens when he- _if_ he- is gone for good? The foursome would be _gone_ and _somebody_ would be left hanging. Would they even remember Kenny, or would his jealous spirit have to cling to them again like a lost child? Was he to be forever alone in nothingness?

And how awful would he feel if Stan- if anybody else- were left all alone?

Kyle and Stan were growing apart and Eric had wedged himself in the rift- and Kenny doubted the fatass had any idea that he was doing it. Still, it was undeniable that Kyle was slowly being sucked into the vortex that was Eric Cartman. And to Kenny, the implications were horrifying.

Ken mulled over his next move the whole way to the next potential bride candidate's house- there was no question as to whether or not the person they were seeking would be there, so why worry about that, too? After all, was there any other place Butters could go when he was grounded?

No.

* * *

><p><strong><em><span>EDIT:<span>_**_ Changed "Pate" to "Poutine". Sorry! Also added some more dialogue._

Do you like how I nonchalantly set this before "You're Getting Old"? This factors into that episode, if you've seen it- so I think you already know how much of a kick in the butt this is going to be for Stan (WAAAAH STAN'S MY SECOND FAVORITE SOUTH PARK KID. WHYYYY? XD)

Also, dear shippers, set-ups like this are about as shippy as I get because the boys are ten-ish and (mostly, sans Cartman and maybe Butters) are straight. Minus the "straight" argument (let's not get into that), they're TEN. Well, okay, Stan's nine in-fic, but STILL. I _encourage_ you to take this fic and branch it off into some bawsome shiptastic whatever pairings (if you want) because they can be lots of fun, I know (and tell me all about your spin-off fic; I wanna know that I inspired somebody and I'll get a kick out of it, most likely XD), but this thing you've read all up in here is about some naive, little, immature jerk-offs going onto reality television to cause chaos. Joy!

That said, you can still find hints of whatever pairing you have ship goggles for in here just like you can in the show- I think everyone who likes South Park can enjoy this regardless of their OTP or lack thereof.

About the fic: I feel like the last little section of Kenny-biased narrator-speak is a little jumbled, so please let me know if I've left you scratching your head.

Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	3. Way Too Many Gay Jokes for One Guy

**_I'm resubmitting these because I realized that all of the chapter labels are out of order. I apologize if those of you on alert got your inbox spammed._**

* * *

><p><em>Part Three: Way too Many Gay Jokes for One Guy to Handle<em>

Eric gave a few quick raps on the door to the Stotch residence before the missus answered.

"Hello, Mrs. Stotch!" Eric smiled. "Is Butters home?" When he wanted something, Eric was excessively charming and polite- that was the number-one tell that he was up to something.

And yet the entire adult population of the universe fell for his ploy almost every time. "He is, but he's grounded in his room. I can't let him come out and play today."

Eric's cherubic smile fell into a Basset hound's frown. "Oh, no, that's too bad. Tell him that I said hello. But, um, when will he be able to come out again?"

"Oh, in about two weeks."

"Perfect," Eric said under his breath.

"What?"

"Uh, I was sneezing, sorry, bless me!" He bullshat some weird phlegm-clearing noises. "See? Oh, I'm so sorry! Gosh! Well, I'll see you and Butters later, Mrs. Stotch! 'Bye!" With a cute wave of his stubby arm, Eric led Kenny and Kyle off of the porch and down the sidewalk.

"What the hell did _that_ accomplish? You knew he was grounded, fatass, so why waste time knocking on the door?"

Eric rolled his face around to Kyle in tandem with his eyes circulating in their sockets. "Because, Kyle, I needed to know _where_ in the house they were keeping Butters."

"Huh?"

"Look. They don't always lock Butters in his room- sometimes he's in the basement or the attic or in the little cupboard beneath the stairs."

"Are you thinking of Harry Potter?"

"Huh? No. He's gay for horses. Butters is just plain _gay_. Anyway, we're gonna break into his room in a minute and see if we can't get him in on our little scheme.

Kenny waited for Kyle to argue something like, "We can't get him even more grounded!" or "We can't break into his house!"

"Cartman, we can't break into the Stotch house and do something that might get Butters grounded longer!"

Boom. As predicted.

"It's not like Butters is going to stay out of "trouble"- and I use the term loosely- for long. And if he's gonna be caged up anyways, why not make it for something big?"

What Eric meant to say was "If he gets caught and grounded for it, that's one less person to smuggle to the Bahamas!" because the boy was a total bastard. However, Kenny couldn't help but admire his slick half-truth skills. "And we can have him doing deskwork like scheduling and decoration coordinating while he's stuck in there for two weeks."

"Cartman!" Okay, maybe Eric wasn't all that slick.

"What? It's _Butters._ He's so got a boner for weddings."

Or maybe the lack of finesse was exactly what made Eric Cartman so dangerous- the boy in the green hat had nothing to counter him with.

Meanwhile, Eric had grabbed a coil of rope from the bushes and hooked it around in some intricate tangle on the side of the house before handing over one of the loose ends. "Kyle, pull on this rope until I get to the top and then I'll get you and Kenny up."

Without a word, Kyle did as he was told. It was very odd- this new subservience to King Cartman was eerily like the one imposed on the very boy they were going to visit.

Was Stan's influence that essential to Kyle's own judgment? Beneath his orange parka, Kenny got goosebumps and he wasn't so sure they were from the cold Colorado air. He rubbed his gloved hands together and helped his redheaded friend pull the rope.

As Kyle and Kenny's manual labor lifted Eric to Butters' window, the large boy looked like an enormous, poisonous spider scaling the wall. He effortlessly continued to reason with Kyle the whole way up, his words coating the rope with a sticky allure that kept the smaller boy from letting go of it and letting the beast crush himself on the ground under the weight of his great red abdomen. Worse, Kyle was so entrapped that he didn't even suspect that, as his efforts sent Eric higher, he was adhering himself more and more to the manipulative boy's twisted ethics. His green-gloved hands pulled his forearms onto the rope, then his elbows, then torso, then his legs, and finally his two booted feet. Before Kyle would ever realize it, he was too far up to escape.

Eric hoisted the shorter boy up and wrapped his meaty hands tightly around Kyle's, like they were cocooning the invisible moral compass held there so that its owner could no longer use it to point himself away from danger. Pretty soon, though, the compass would be the least of anyone's worries- Kyle would be so ensnared that he'd be unable to move at all, even if he wanted to. And then, once the redhead was fully immobilized, Eric could slowly, slowly drain him at his leisure until there was nothing left of the little Jew except a shell for the conniving Eric Cartman to do with as he pleased.

He did the same thing with Butters, more or less, except he couldn't soil _all _the innocence in the plucky boy's heart- Eric could only take Butters' free time and blindly lead him astray. In some ways, Butters was an indestructible fortress because Cartman could never tear down the walls of his innate goodness; he just used it to his advantage and took shelter there from time to time.

Kyle, on the other hand, was a lesser (or, because of his corruptible morality rather than in spite of it, greater, depending on both how one characterizes what it means to be human and how one honors the divine) being than Butters. Besides, Kenny actually gave a damn about Kyle, so his involvement in the evils of Eric Cartman was immediately more pressing than the naïve blonde boy's could ever be. Screw Butters- he was a pussy.

But then, when it was Kenny's turn to ascend to Butters' room, he wondered how Cartman was changing him. Usually, he only went along with his schemes when it suited him- Kenny was neither a fortress nor a fly; he was the asshole orange clownfish that could slip in and out of Eric's venom (usually) as he pleased. He, like Butters, wasn't really changed by these schemes, per se.

The impoverished boy just liked to glide through life and do as he pleased with no fear of consequences- he wanted to lay his hands on every material pleasure he could. No, Kenny McCormick was not one to champion over the right and punish the wrong. That was Mysterion's job.

At least, he told himself that.

Anyway, Kenny wanted to get something out of life. He figured, you had to give a little to get a little, so since he was dirt-ass poor, he gave out the only thing he had; he gave out himself.

The problem is that there's only so much Kenny a single Kenny has to spend over the course of one lifetime. And Kenny had more than just one lifetime.

Way more than just one lifetime.

He hauled himself through Butters' window and landed feet-first on the floor. Eric and Kyle had hardly thought to give him a hand- they had faith that Kenny would enter into whatever moral abyss opened up closest to his feet whether he had help or not.

Then again, they could have just been too preoccupied heckling Butters to pay him any mind.

"Oh, hi fellas! I can't come out today, 'cause I'm grounded, but it sure is nice to see you!"

Eric and Kyle looked at each other. "Hey, yeah, Butters, sorry about you being grounded. That really sucks," Kyle began.

"Yeah, it does. But I'm only in for two weeks this time!"

The Broflovski boy cringed. "Oh, yeah, that's, um, that's good."

"You bet!" Butters gave his usual clueless smile and looked from Kyle's guilty form to Eric's poker face. The upturned quirk of his lips slowly reversed themselves. "You guys are here to get me to do somethin' that's gonna get me grounded longer, huh?"

Kenny watched as Kyle turned around and hung his head. There was still enough of him in there to feel some shame, at least.

Behind him, though, Eric had unabashedly taken action. "Butters, it's quite possible that what we have for you doesn't require you leaving this room for at least two weeks, if not a month or more."

The little cherub messed with his teal jacket. "I don't have to sell illegal substances again, do I?"

"No."

"Do I have to make another stupid video of me dancing around like an idiot?"

"No."

"Are you going to make me your bottom bitch?"

"No." In his mind, Kenny noted that Butters was _already _Cartman's bottom bitch. "Butters, my people want your people to plan a wedding."

His usually lustrous eyes began to shine in confusion. "Huh?"

"We need you to plan a wedding in which you are to be the bride."

"Why do I have to be the bride?"

"Because then we can reuse your Marjorine identity and not have to go through that whole identity crafting fiasco again. And you've got the most experience getting into other girls' heads. And because you are the faggiest fag I could find."

Instead of being insulted, Butters bobbed his head. He was probably too preoccupied thinking of his stint as a pimp and his undercover mission at Heidi Turner's slumber party to take offense. "I guess that makes sense. But why?"

Kyle opened his mouth. "It's a contest, Butters, to see who can have the most, um, beautiful wedding. We want to, uh, show one with grace and sophistication."

"Oh! Uh, what's the prize?" The bride-to-be candidate rubbed his hands together in a nervous tick.

Eric sugar-coated nothing. "A trip to the Bahamas. But that isn't important. We need you, Butters."

Yet even when he wasn't being sickly saccharine, Eric could sweeten the deal just by being the biggest manipulative asshole ever.

"I need you."

Just beautiful! Kenny was beside himself in hysterics. As Kyle, who was next to Eric, gave the rotund boy a bizarre stare, their orange third wheel muffled his laughter in the thick insulation of his coat. This was too perfect. He covered what little of his face there was showing with his hands and stifled all of his comments about how "FAG" really stood for "Fat Ass Gay" or how somebody needed to take a drag of that fat fag because his giant pants were flaming (interestingly, the latter gag nullified the gay insult by calling him a liar about needing Butters, thereby reducing Eric to just a European cigarette. But European things were usually seen as gay in American society anyway, so maybe not. Inverted again because of the new definition of "fag" having to do with motorcyclists… Kenny's mind was wheeling and dealing out insults and arguments.)

Butters, however, took it straight (or as straight as a NASCAR track?) and put a hand on his chest. "Aw, gosh, Eric, I dunno…"

"But Butters, don't you love stuff like this?"

"It's true, I love it when mom tells me stories of her weddin' and shows me pictures." He thought for a moment more. "Who am I marryin'?"

Eric surreptitiously nudged Kyle as if to say, "piece of cake!" Quickly, though, he turned his attention back to Butters. "Well, you've got three suitors right here. Take your pick."

"So we're puttin' on what's to be the perfect weddin', right? Presentation and everythin'?"

"Actually, we're putting on two perfect weddings, that way we can all be in one," Kyle piped up.

Rather than being discouraged, Butters brightened more. "Oh, that's just perfect! There were several themes I was considerin'!" He narrowed his eyes and looked at his three guests.

Kenny stepped up closer to the other two. Ideally, Butters would pick Kyle, they'd spend a lot of time together for planning, and then Kyle would feel extra-guilty over using the clueless blonde like a tool and back out of the wedding due to an overdose of Leopold Butters Stotch. If Butters picked Cartman, on the other hand, that would be fine, too. Kenny could do his darnedest to make Kyle get cold feet one way or another- two out of three was good odds.

Still, he nudged Kyle forward to make him stand out as the obvious choice. Kyle-with-a-side-of-Butters was the best scenario; that left Cartman stuck in a place where Kenny could easily mess with him.

Butters looked at the three, pointed, and made his decision.

And damn him, he made the one choice that Kenny did not want him to make. "Kyle, you should marry Eric."

This was also the choice that Kyle did not want him to make. "WHAT?" As much as he didn't really relish the thought of "marrying" any of them, Eric was the greatest of three evils.

"Well, Kyle and Eric are about the same height while I, being the girl, am too tall for either of 'em. Kenny's taller than I am, so I'll marry him."

Immediately, Kenny argued about how adhering to height guidelines restricted true love.

Butters looked confused. "Well, you're right, it does, but I was just thinkin' about what's usually seen as the ideal. And this is a pretend weddin', ain't it? It's just to look pretty?"

Eric covered. "Yep. We just need you to have your parents sign this, ahem, permission form so we can go on television." No backing out now.

"Oh, wow, on TV!" He furrowed his fuzzy yellow brows. "It's too bad that we don't have any real girls to pretend to be brides."

Kyle was on this one like Star of David on Jew. "None of them want to pretend with us. Besides, we want to show that, um, boys can put on classy, emotional, and respectable weddings to inspire everyone watching that they can do the same!" From the sound of his voice, Kenny surmised that Kyle actually believed in the latter part.

"Holy smokes, you guys! We're gonna be an inspiration- _on TV!" _Butters threw his hands up in the air in joy. "You fellas get goin' before you get caught and I'll start drawin' up the plans. They should be done sometime tomorrow!" He shooed them out the window in an excited frenzy before dashing to his desk to get some paper and a pencil. "Oh, boy, my own weddin'!"

Once the rope was returned to its hiding spot in the bushes and the trio was safely on the ground (even Kenny, who had a ridiculous mortality rate), Eric adjusted his jacket and took off.

"Wait a minute, fatass!" Kyle shouted. "You said I didn't have to kiss you!"

Eric faced him. "And you don't. You just have to marry me. Temporarily. In New Hampshire."

Kyle was so distracted by the kissing issue that he overlooked the tack-on of New Hampshire. "Whaddaya mean I don't have to kiss you? We're getting married! Jesus!"

Leave it to Jesus to walk up with Craig in tow. "Someone call my name?"

"No- well, yes, but I didn't mean for you to actually come."

Kenny smirked. Lots of people would kill to have their Lord and Savior appear when they summoned him. If Kyle weren't Jewish, he'd know all about how the Lamb of God liked to screen calls.

Actually, Kyle knew because he'd seen Jesus do it in every episode of Jesus and Pals. But he didn't completely understand how frustrating it was.

"Oh. Well, Craig and I were just taking a nice walk, but I think it might be good for him to play with you boys for a while and see all the joy there is in simply being alive with friends. The Lord be with you!" He waved and left the pragmatic boy behind.

"Wonderful Counselor, my ass," he muttered. Kenny noted that compared to Mr. Mackey, Jesus was just that- and Craig ought to know that since he spent just about every damn day outside the school counseling office.

Eric, Kenny, and Kyle ignored him and kept arguing. "You don't have to kiss to get married, dumbass!"

"You don't?"

"No! Why the hell would I agree to this if it was required?"

Kenny wanted to make yet another gay joke, but refrained.

"Oh. Well, where are we gonna get the money to do all this wedding stuff with?"

"Eric waved the issue away. "Kyle, I've got it all covered. Start brainstorming about things just in case Butters forgets something. Also, Kyle, you're the bride."

Craig, who normally didn't give a shit, was intrigued. "I can't believe it. You guys are actually admitting that you should all cluster together in some weird polygamist group and get married because you're all gay for each other. This is too funny." He said it all with a straight face, so it was impossible to tell if he was actually amused or not.

In a sudden burst of anger, Eric turned on the intruder. "No, asswipe, we're entering TLC's Four Weddings so we can go to the Bahamas- and we're gonna WIN!" He spat out the last word and addressed his two partners in crime. "Screw this guy, I'm goin' home."

Kenny looked at his friend's deepening frown. With a guttural growl, Kyle's hooked nose wrinkled itself so that it drew his cheeks up below his eyes so that they became narrowed slits of green-brown peeking out from beneath his bright hat. Any minute now, Kenny thought they were going to shoot lasers or something because of the intensity of his glare. That didn't happen; instead, Kyle just huffed in annoyance- he still had a little fight in him- and went after Eric.

It was rather funny- even when Kyle wasn't being lulled into submission by Eric, he was still following him around.

Only Kenny and Craig were left. "Was he serious?"

Ken looked at Craig.

"Are you guys seriously going to go on a wedding reality show?"

The boy in the orange parka nodded.

"How? You guys aren't even legally allowed to get married."

In the back of his head, Kenny had already formed the beginnings of a plan- Craig had just become a piece in the game between Kenny Ulysses McCormick and Eric Theodore Cartman. He stuck the "parental permission slip" onto Craig's outstretched middle finger and explained to him what they were doing- and he made sure he sounded as douchebaggy as possible, like there was no way they wouldn't be the ones to win. With enough goading, this assholian technique would strengthen Craig's hatred of Kenny and his friends and he'd take the bait to screw with them. The Bahamas prize also helped.

It was working, too- Craig's passive shell showed a tiny crack.

"…I'm leaving." He turned around and did just what he said he was going to do, but Kenny noticed with a smile that he had taken the paper off of his finger and was perusing it as he walked off.

Craig would compete- Kenny had made sure that he was annoyed enough with the normal South Park representatives to want to decimate their plans utterly. It might gain them an adamant enemy, but maybe it would help Kyle come to his senses.

Using his bird finger, Craig knocked on Thomas' front door.

With a few shouted curses, Le Petit Tourette answered. "Hello- oh, hey, Craig. SHIT!"

Craig wasted no time. "Thomas, I need your help. We're gonna get back at Eric Cartman and his asshole friends."


	4. My Wedding Kicks Your Wedding's Ass

_Part Four: My Wedding Kicks Your Wedding's Ass_

It's not really any surprise that Jesus lived in South Park, but then again, there is no surprising place for the Lord in mortal form to live.

Had he made his residence in a war-torn third world country, the consensus would be that he was appearing where he was most needed. Had he lived in the Vatican, the people would say it was because he was a true man of the church. And had Jesus appeared in the big city, everyone would think it was because he could utilize the many resources there to spread his Word.

The most commonly accepted theory as to why Jesus lived in South Park was lacking when compared to the other yarns for other places, but it still held some merit- Jesus originally came from a humble background, so wouldn't it make sense for him to maintain it in one of the most Podunk locations mankind could shove within the craggy, Godforsaken butt crack of the Rocky Mountains?

Except South Park was hardly Godforsaken. God is, as they say, always with you, whether you're in deepest, darkest Africa or lily-white-bread-mountain town in the equally pale, snow-dusted Colorado mountains. Jesus Christ's obvious Colorado address also dispelled the notion that South Park was the land that God forgot.

Besides, they had internet. It wasn't that bad.

Sometimes, though, Kenny had to wonder- was Jesus _really_ his Lord and Savior? Was he really the Son of God? Was he really all-powerful? Did he really ensure believers a place in heaven?

Was there even such a thing as Heaven?

Kenny did not know. He had been to a variety of afterlives just to be thrust out of them like they were nothing more than unattainable dreams. However, in every Heaven, Hell, or what-have-you he had been to, there _were_ permanent residents who had been punished or rewarded accordingly based on the quality of their immortal souls.

Yes, these people (Mormons in Heaven, everyone/thing else in Hell) had immortal souls. Kenny was convinced of this, and he believed it simply because those people got to _actually stay_ where they were put while Kenny didn't occupy anywhere for long.

Kenny died continuously. Other people died only once.

Still, it was a terrible thing to die and Kenny would not wish a painful and slow demise upon anyone- and that contributed to his frequent streak of martyrdom. What would he do if one of the other precious Park kids died on his watch?

They may have been fucking assholes for forgetting his many deaths, but he loved them all the same.

In fact, they were another huge reason that Ken had an especially special interest in questioning Jesus' powers.

If he couldn't guarantee it for Kenny, could Jesus Christ guarantee salvation for the _rest_ of South Park, if only they believe and love Him?

As it is with every fuckin' other thing in his life, Kenny just _didn't know_. But why concern himself with all of this? Why couldn't he just _get it_ already and let it all be over?

And why the _hell_ were they all sitting in Butters' room looking at stupid bridal magazines? This was NOT what Kenny wanted to do with his day- this was NOT the kind of magazine Kenny wanted occupying his attention! He wanted _titties_, dammit!

Eric Cartman did not share Kenny's desire. He was discussing other plans with Butters. "Well, Butters, what have you got?"

"I've compiled a list of weddin' themes! They're here summers…" Butters got up from his desk chair and rifled through a pile of papers on the floor. Nonchalantly, Eric took his seat while the submissive boy was down there and Kenny had to again stifle his laughter at how much the position was, from his angle, reminiscent of something rather gay and inappropriate.

The blonde boy stood back up and handed Eric a sheet of notebook paper. "Here ya go!"

"Excellent. Let's see here," Eric glanced over the list. "Gay. Gay. Mega-gay. Too straight. No. Mmm. Gay in the wrong way. Also gay. Nah. Nope. Ahh," his eyes, the color of the chocolate candy he overate daily, glinted in the light of discovery. "The "classic fantasy with a twist"? Tell me more about this one."

"W-well, y'know how girls always overuse the Paris thing? I thought, why don't we just do France in general? We can have th' palace at Versailles (he said it "Versailees", which Kyle had opened his mouth to correct until Kenny covered it with a friendly hand- there was no need to interrupt the discussion with something so trite as accurate information. Heaven forbid.) and the Victorian era and everything!"

Eric put a hand on his chin. "Genius, Butters. Good work."

"Th-thanks." Butters took the praise to heart even though Cartman's sincerity was debatable.

"But I'm curious about this one, too," Eric added.

Butters waved it off. "Oh, I just threw it in there because the first step of brainstorming is to go for quantity."

"But I like it." And he meant this for sure- his pupils were dilating like a dog's when fixated on a juicy steak. Or a cat's on a pot pie- whichever came across as more menacing.

As expected, Kyle had dropped his bridal magazine and snatched up the list of wedding themes from Eric's meaty hands. "Let me see that."

Eric only shrugged as Kyle scanned the paper. Notable only because Eric was known for his temper- Kenny found it a little odd that the fatass rarely blew up on himself, Stan, or Kyle in a major way now that they were older.

It was almost as if Eric Cartman was like every other human being and had enough of a heart and soul to care about them or set them apart as his friends or something- and he was such an _ass_ that, if he had that potential, he would just take that soul for granted; Cartman had the opportunity to die, go to heaven, and stay there to be happy forever but he was such a greedy, prideful, slothful, gluttonous, selfish, conniving, and cruel little shit that he just threw it all away.

"A Southern Wedding"? Kyle questioned.

Butters was more than happy to explain. "Well, y'see, we could all wear Anty-bellum-"

"Antebellum," Kyle corrected- Kenny wasn't there to restrain him.

"Uh, right. Or other _Gone With The Wind_-type clothes and have it all outdoors on a plantation with sweet tea and fried chicken!"

"And the help would be easy to find," Eric added.

Kyle narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Guh!" The rotund boy gave an exasperated gasp. "Oh, come on, Kyle. We all know who does the best job serving and cooking for the genteel Southerners. I'm just talking about caterers."

"I don't believe you." Neither did Kenny. He just kept having visions of Cartman dressed up as Robert E. Lee and leading the whole Civil War reenactment on a drunken rampage across the Union-won United States.

"What does it matter?" Eric argued.

"A lot, fatass, 'cause I'm in this wedding, too! I have just as much of a say in it as you do."

"I just want _certain employees_ of KFC to work at the Wedding reception, okay?"

"KFC isn't romantic!"

Cartman's eyes bugged out. "No, but it's GOOD."

"You are up to something. I know it."

"What, don't trust me, Kyle? You want to just take control of this marriage and make me do your bidding?" Nestled inside Kenny's skull, Robert E. Lee-Cartman had done a wardrobe change to become one Eric T. Cartman, white supremacist and slave owner extraordinaire.

Eric had been clever enough to deftly dance around the word "slave", so Kyle (unlike Kenny) had yet to catch on to what he was implying in regards to "certain employees" catering the plantation-themed wedding.

"No, Cartman, I don't trust you. The deeper we get into this business, the more I feel like I'm making a horrible mistake."

"A marriage is built on trust and love, fellas!" Butters interjected. "You can't do this if you don't trust each other!"

"You know what, then, Kyle? I don't think you want to marry me."

The Daywalker deadpanned. "I don't, asshole. I just want to go to the Bahamas."

With a fling of his hands, Eric turned to face Kenny. "Well, I don't want to marry you, either, Jew!" Kenny couldn't believe his ears. The scheme was falling apart before it even started- this was too good to be true!

"Fine!" Shot Kyle. Kenny felt like dancing.

At least, he did until Eric's next statement made his feet (and whole body) feel like stone. "You can marry Butters, Jewfag- I'll marry Kenny."

Even if this change of plans got Kyle one step closer to realizing he was an enormous dipshit for going along with Cartman in the first place, Kenny did not relish for a nanosecond the thought of playing the female part of a Genteel Southern couple with anybody, especially Cartman. He wished that he had just let Kyle slide into this one alone and stayed with Stan in his room.

Who was the enormous dipshit now?


	5. Unfamiliar Territory

_Part Five: Unfamiliar Territory_

"New Hampshire: You're Going to Love it Here," read Butters. "Golly, fellers, this place is the perfect place for married couples! They _must_ love livin' here- it even says so! Look!"

Eric, who was gasping from the physical exertion it took to roll his luggage from the airport to the car, used the peppy blonde's inane comment as an excuse to stop for a moment and catch his breath. He also wanted to take the opportunity to publicly crush Butters' enthusiasm because doing so had the side effect of raising the rotund boy's self-esteem.

So, basically, Eric Cartman led the charge on ignoring Butters completely and focusing all of the attention on the possessors of the handheld signs reading "CARTMAN", "MCORMICK", "STOTCH", and "JEW".

Kyle was severely unappreciative of his sign.

"Hello, hosts!" Eric waved a yellow-gloved hand and waddled over to the waiting party with newly-found energy. "I am Eric Cartman and this is my betrothed, Marjorine."

Butters, in his standard green-and-white drag uniform (it had taken a surprising amount of goading to make him put it on- he started shouting nonsense about not wanting to play "light as a feather, stiff as a board"), smiled and curtsied clumsily. "Hello," he said.

Eric again took command of the conversation. "This over here in the dashing green hat is mister Kyle Broflovski and his cunt-" Kenny swiftly kicked Cartman in the nuts from behind, "—_congenial _bride-to-be."

His only reply was a disgruntled "hello" from beneath and behind his absurd pink bonnet and the ridiculous curly brown wig planted beneath it. He looked kind of like Cousin It with a bad perm.

As it was, Kenny found the comparison rather fitting- the four of them together did appear quite creepy and kooky, what with posing as a set of child couples and all. Cartman was deftly dancing around the truth of why they were there with a moronic story about how their parents had talked about how they wanted their children to be married to one another should something ever happen to them- and about how a month later they passed away due to a tragic, random, and unknown cause. He threw in some fake tears to detract from the absurdity of the explanation that they'd gotten the New Hampshire marriage papers signed during a brief supernatural experience with the ghosts of their dearly departed parents. And aliens.

Mysterious _and_ spooky!

The show's cameraman shifted his namesake equipment higher onto his shoulder. "Are you guys really thirteen?"

"'Ey! You're paid to film me, not interrogate me!" Eric snarled, to which the cameraman hid behind his camera.

"Y-you're right." The director (or whoever the heck oversaw a reality show- Kenny didn't give a shit as to how this all worked) was also a bit taken aback by the red ringleader's feisty attitude. "Well, um, Mr. Cartman and friends, this is one of the other couples participating in the show with you. Meet the future Cunningham family."

Kenny didn't really get a good look at Mr. Cunningham's face, nor did he study the visage of his fiancé- there'd be plenty of time to do that later. For now, he let all of his attention ride on his female competitor's compete_tits._ Best of all, the long bangs of the wig kept anyone from noticing! Kenny was getting used to pretending that he had female anatomy really fast.

If only his was as flawless as hers. Then he could view real boobs in both public and private. That would be perfect.

Eric's automatic charm was at about the same caliber as the focus of Kenny's attention. "Hello! It's so nice to meet you! I am so very excited to be a part of your big day! Congratulations!" He stuck out a pudgy hand.

Mister Cunningham chuckled nervously and shook. "Yeah, same to you, too. Um."

"May the best wedding win," added perfect tits. Kenny assumed she was smiling based on the sound of her voice. He sure was from underneath that wig.

"Of course," purred Eric. And then he hissed, "Bitch," immediately afterwards.

"Huh?"

"Oh! I'm sorry! I got something stuck in my throat! I was trying to ask, "_Which_ two of the others make our fourth couple?"

The head honcho of the group smiled a smile that wasn't as much a smile as it was an awkward flash of teeth that mimicked the face a chimpanzee in a circus might make as it rolled around atop a giant rubber ball while the clowns set up for the next act.

And here were the clowns now! Two diminutive figures came into view and walked towards Eric Cartman's little entourage. Kenny didn't recognize the one with the cropped blonde hair and plaid shirt, but the one in the blue, Peruvian-style hat with the obnoxious yellow pom-pom busting out the top was unmistakable- not even Craig's red wig and winged sunglasses could hide his identity from such an experienced, hardened crime fighter/mystery solver/identity revealer as the part-time vigilante Mysterion.

However, Kenny's deduction wasn't really impressive- Eric recognized el señorito negativo supremo through his disguise just as fast. If it weren't for the fact that it fooled the complete strangers in the crowd, Craig probably would've just saved himself the effort and left his sister's old Disney Princess Belle Halloween costume at home.

(Secretly, Kenny rejoiced that nobody had pulled out Stan's sister Shelley's old Ariel costume for him to wear. That would have sucked major ass- and Kenny was NOT an ass man.)

Ringleader parted the teeth of her chimp-grimace and let an explanation burst forth. "Meet Thomas and his fiancé, Craiglee. They're from South Park, too. Isn't that nice?"

Cartman drew his lips into a thin line until he stretched his face so tightly that Kenny would not have crawled up into his mouth for any sum of money whatsoever. "Very. It is very… _nice_," he forced out. "Why don't we get to know these _nice _fellow South Peruvians—I mean, South Parkians as we walk to the _nice_ car that will pick us up and take us to the _nice_ place where we will have _nice_ tea and _nice_ sandwiches as we have a _nice _chat. What a small, _nice_ world it is."

The three-ring circus made its way to the company cars with the director leading the way and holding the attentions of Butters, Thomas and Mr. Cunningham while Mrs. Future Cunningham's boobs continued to put on a show for Kenny. In the back, Eric, Kyle, and Craig had that "nice" chat a bit prematurely.

They had really been looking forward to it.

"What the _fuck _are you doing here?" Kyle demanded.

"I'm getting married. What's it look like?" The classic Craig inflection made determining his level of seriousness very dubious.

"Gah, are you still sore about that Peruvian thing? Do you feel the need to just screw us up all the time?

A single twang of the post-nasal drip-afflicted vocal chords answered them. "No."

"You're lying, asshole!"

Craig showed a tiny bit of obvious emotion as he turned to face Eric. "I'm not. I don't feel the need to screw with you all the time." The little smirk was unmistakable now. "I only screw with you when I can get something out of it."

Even with most of his brain swimming around the closest perfect bust to his person, Kenny could tell that Cartman and Kyle were about to bust a collective nut. Or kick Craig square in his. Whatever came first. They were so mad that they didn't think to ask about Craig's mystery man Thomas- or if he truly couldn't come up with a better name than "Craiglee".

And honestly, if it weren't for the good-mood-spell future Mrs. Cunningham had put on Kenny, he'd have also joined the pissy party because as much as he wanted to oversee the Cartman-and-Kyle dynamic, he really did want to go to the Bahamas, too.

At this moment in time, he wasn't sure which he was participating in this crazy scheme for more and it was frustrating. Especially since thinking about it was bringing him down below boob-level happiness.

Over in ring number one, Thomas suddenly shuddered as if he felt the chill from Kenny's mental clouding and shouted out the dialogue that accompanied the deluge. "Aw, SHIT!"

As it happened, there was also a shitstorm happening all the way across the country as Stan tried for the umpteenth time to find a radio station that he liked. He wasn't making much progress.

If anything, he had made _negative_ progress because he just kept running into the same old stations over and over again until he started to hate them instead of just thinking they were mildly crappy. He turned off the radio and went outside to take a walk.

He wondered a little about how Kyle was doing, but tried very hard to put that question out of his mind. The redhead was very independent and would be okay without him.

Right?


	6. The Ultimate Dick Move

_Part Six: The Ultimate Dick Move_

Kyle looked around, took in what he saw, and refused to believe his eyes.

Oh, but they were being honest. He stopped trying to make them lie and resigned himself to awkwardly averting his gaze from the marital ceremony of Thomas and Craig as well as the terribly inappropriate theme of their wedding decorations. They were totally disgusting, really, but they ensured that Craig and his "husband" would not be winning the trip to the Bahamas.

At least, they wouldn't if neither Kyle nor his compadres screwed everything up.

So far, the worst thing Team Bahamas Scheme had done was let Kenny slack off. When the orange moron had the opportunity to win over his fellow brides during their outings to get to know each other, he'd remained silent. In fact, he _still_ wasn't contributing to the current conversation the future Mrs. Cunningham and "Marjorine" were having at all. The only thing he was getting to know was the silhouette of his competition; if anything, Mrs. Cunningham-to-be was winning _him_ over!

Butters, however, _had_ been doing his job- but there was no deception (besides being "Marjorine") involved with his comments. He was as sincere as always. "It's really beautiful, ain't it?" he said to his neighbors. "Even though poor ol' Thomas has Tourette's, Craiglee is still marryin' 'im!"

"Yes," responded the only real bride in the show. "That shows true love, certainly!"

Kenny nodded his head in tandem with the motions of the apples of his eye. He was totally in to this wedding just like it was- if the camera crew were to ask him, he'd say it needed no other decoration than what he was currently admiring.

Kenny certainly didn't need anything else to look at!

Behind him, Eric thought differently. He noticed his cohort's distracted attention, so he jabbed him in the ribs. "'Ey!" He hissed. "Pay attention to the wedding, stupid! We need you to be able to tear it apart on camera later!"

Ken shot Eric the bird, and he did it so well that the "bride" currently at the altar couldn't help but feel a warm glow of mutual bird-flipping kinship. A small smile came to Craig's lips as he enthusiastically stuck his middle finger up in the air at his groom just as the ring was being presented. The audience gasped and Thomas, who was nervous anyways, blindly shoved the band (a mood ring) onto his friend's outstretched digit and cursed.

The aforementioned combination of outside stimuli encouraged Kenny to look up from Mrs.-Cunningham-to-be's breasts and see what Kyle was trying very hard not to believe and ridicule. And while Kenny's knowledge of the private anatomy of the male and female made it impossible for him to not see genital everywhere, he had trouble believing that he was hallucinating independently.

Because that was not possibly a giant phallic symbol that the priest was standing behind.

That was not possibly a suspiciously-feminine-looking red netting structure above their heads.

And that was not possibly a dam made of shit holding back the water beneath the little bridge that Craig and Thomas were standing on.

For the love of all that was good and holy, the wedding theme couldn't possibly have been—

"_Cock_! _Pussy_! I do," said a mortified Thomas before an extra "_Damn_ it! _SHIT_!" slipped out.

Those assholes couldn't think of any ideas, so Craig made the wedding theme whatever came out of poor Thomas' mouth!

They were about to kiss (which was making Thomas' Tourette's worse and Craig's finger stretch even straighter) when Kenny discovered he just _couldn't_ keep the secret of the strange decorations any longer and whispered it to Butters, who also proved the secret to be quite infectious.

"YOU GUYS MADE THE PRIEST STAND BEHIND A GIANT WEINER?" He shared.

Everyone stopped. People stared. Kyle facepalmed. And Craig kept flipping them all off.

Things hadn't even gotten started, though, as Kenny tried and failed to muffle his laughter. He ended up on the ground, holding his stomach and hollering in amusement.

Someone stood up. "This is a _wedding_. Be RESPECTFUL!"

Butters, innocent (and so _stupid_) as always, couldn't take the more-than-overtly-obvious hint to shut the hell up. "But mister, there's a giant WEINER up there! Isn't _that_ disrespectful?"

"Can it, asshole!" Craig redirected his middle finger towards Butters and came towards him.

"See, now you've upset the bride!"

"How sick!"

"How wrong!"

My, Kenny thought these people were jackasses. But he knew he certainly looked like one too as he writhed on the floor- Butters' delivery had torn apart Kenny's mental filter and he just _had_ to laugh at the giant dildo pointing up at the enormous feminine folds of fabric above them in a way too suggestive fashion.

He didn't feel too bad about it, though- it wasn't like Butters was closing his floodgate of a mouth, either.

Besides, this was Craig's wedding.

_Craig's_ wedding.

_Craig_.

Craig, who hated Kenny and his entourage's guts. Craig, who didn't actually care about anything enough to matter. Craig, who was walking over to Kenny with an uncharacteristically wrathful glint in his eyes. Craig, who told everyone he knew to fuck off on a regular basis. Craig, who was intercepted by Kyle and Eric and was now dishing it out with them. _Craig_, who currently had his arms restrained by five of the attendees. _CRAIG_, who had tripped in the hullaballoo and brought down the entire wedding audience in a domino effect that started with his restrainers and progressed to infiltrate the line of bridesmaids, who tipped the priest, who toppled the phallic podium in a last-ditch attempt to grab it and remain standing, which narrowly missed Butters and Thomas but squashed Kenny squarely on the head, killing him instantly.

Yes, this wedding belonged to _that_ Craig- the same Craig who looked down at what could be classified as the Ultimate Dick Move as he pondered Kyle's profound accusation of, "Oh my God! You killed Kenny!"

"You bastard!" exclaimed Stan as he threw down his mouse. He'd tried playing an MMORPG to assuage his boredom while his buddies (and Eric) were away on their "trip", but he'd been shot down once again by some other player.

This was getting really annoying and really shitty really fast, what with Kyle and Kenny not around. What Stan wouldn't give to—

The doorbell rang and little Stanley's train of thought derailed itself. He got up and answered the door.

"Kenny!" he cocked his head. "Have you guys come to your senses yet?"

Honestly, Kenny had- and they were now telling him to forget the whole ordeal in New Hampshire and let Kyle fend for himself- but his conscience, which was stronger, was now knocking him sense_less_ again.

So he told Stan that he had no idea what he was talking about! They were totally going to win that Bahamas trip whether one of them like oh, say Kyle, had a breakdown _and needed someone in their right mind like oh, say Stan, to talk him out of doing something that's sure to backfire_ or not!

…And he told him that he needed money to buy another plane ticket to go back to New Hampshire.

"Go _back _to New Hampshire?" Stan looked at him quizzically and Kenny groaned- he didn't have time to try and explain the whole "die and wake up in South Park" Mysterion mystery to him. Again. He came up with another answer instead.

In response to the muffled jumble of noises his orange friend emitted, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cartman got mad, drugged you, and shipped you back here in a crate overnight and now he's marrying Kyle?" His thumb and forefinger came together so hard that Kenny swore he heard a small crunch. "Why do I not doubt this at all?"

"Dammit, now we're one bride short!" Kyle fumed. "Shit! What're we gonna do now?"

Eric looked him in the face. "Well, Kyle, we're doing this Mormon-style. I'm marrying both you and Butters."

Immediately, the redhead balked. "That's not legal anymore and it's not a common practice anyways and—NO! Just…_NO_!"

Eric totally disregarded Kyle's objection. "Shut your filthy Jew mouth and put on Kenny's wedding dress because it will fit you better than it'll fit me."

"No way! I'm not— Wait. Did you just admit that you're-?"

"Big boned? Yes," he interjected. Then, he turned to the camera crew and dazzled them with an angelic face. "Should we go prepare ourselves for our ceremonies? It's such a shame that such a damper was put on Craig…lee's special day, but the wedding was beautiful regardless. It really showed the, erm, _unification_ of man and wife."

"I hope yours is nice, too, boys- especially since the three of you all have to marry each other because one of you, um, died…"

Kyle seethed. "No! I don't-"

"Yes," Eric eyed Kyle menacingly, "because of our parents' _will_."

An epic force-battle complete with invisible (but deadly) eye-lasers intersecting the line of sight between the Gentile and the Jew would have been appropriate, but Kyle ultimately broke away and grabbed Butters by the hand before the showdown became cataclysmic.

"Goddammit, Cartman."

Kenny's lie to Stan wasn't too far off the mark, after all.


	7. For Those I Love Most

_Part Seven: Those I Love Most_

After a long off-and-on relationship of outright refusing the notion to "get married" and then being roped right back into the scheme because of Cartman's elaborate lies (and promises of poutine), Kyle finally decided to make the executive decision to swallow his pride and make the long walk down the aisle.

That is, he _would…_ once he got off his ass to pass through the doorway.

He shifted his weight into his oversized high heels and flirted with the idea of getting to his feet.

Due to Kenny's absence, Kyle had found himself saddled with the French wedding, and Eric, ever wanting to please the crowd, had found a winner of a hairdresser to craft Kyle's fine Marie Antoinette-inspired hairdo- the Jewish bride was currently sporting a wonderfully proper model boat in addition to his usual adorable hat. That would all be fine and dandy, but unfortunately, the new head-skipper was not as agreeable as the good captain ushanka; the mast of the greenhorn ship currently jutting out of the poor male-bride's pompadour-Jewfro monstrosity made it impossible for the boy to traverse through the doorway without toppling forwards onto his distinctive nose.

As if to prove to himself that _yes, he had actually been dumb enough to agree to have a ship in his hair that made him a complete invalid_, he lifted himself from his precarious perch, took one step…

…and then capsized head-over-heels.

Dammit.

Kyle was beginning to become a little unnerved.

More unnerving still, though, was the fact that the wedding dress (complete with uncomfortable authentic undergarments) was a perfect fit and that the state of the red hair on top of his head would not have been possible for the bride he was replacing (let alone anyone else who lacked a Jewfro.) Indeed, Kyle was a picture-perfect genderbent Marie Antoinette, despite his current undignified facedown position. But because he was so young and androgynous, the audience would think he was just a mini-Marie so the whole "genderbent" qualifier was irrelevant- the historical caricature was flawless. He was willing to bet that Eric had planned this bridal switcheroo from the very start.

Humorlessly, he wondered if he'd rather be in an English wedding (as the dubious gender factor and fire crotch status made the Virgin Queen Elizabeth a viable option) since he then would not have to deal with such an absurd get-up.

Alas, it dawned on him that an Elizabethan impersonation would not have made his newfound helplessness any less severe because that insane accordion collar would have been as hazardous as the bustle and boat bursting forth from young Kyle's back and front ends respectively- he suddenly had a horrifying vision that he was sewn between two people to make a whole human centipede rather than corseted and glued to a headpiece and dress to make a complete asshole. He gagged as he thought of the absolute shit being shoved down his throat (although this time was metaphorical rather than literal) and was even more appalled to realize that, both then and now, he'd completely agreed to this twisted abuse.

Except this time, the consequences were much more severe – for one, the shit he was stomaching belonged to Caucasian sociopath Eric Cartman instead of an Asian guy with schizophrenia. For two, Kyle was being forced to then re-feed it to the United States of America on National television where it would re-circulate, fester, grow, and haunt him forever to remind him that he was a _manipulative liar and hypocritical tool_ rather than travel through a B-movie star who would simply expel it from her system like the garbage it was.

Also, Marie Antoinette was a redhead, too, so Elizabeth would not necessarily have one-upped her from a role-playing-typecast point-of-view, either.

Yeah, Kyle was pretty well fucked in every way.

Worse, his embarrassing position on the ground made it pretty obvious that he wasn't really doing anything to fight it. With a grunt of effort, he pressed his palms into the carpet and pushed to lift his upper torso off of the floor.

He knew that his upper torso wasn't the problem, though- in fact, Kyle was able to kick off his shoes and stand on his feet with his entire body off of the ground with relative ease. The problem was, again, the model ship in his hair. The damned thing had sunk him and rooted itself to the ground, so Kyle was in a compromising position with his butt sticking straight up in the air as he tried (and failed) to lift it and regain his heading.

"DAMN IT!" he screamed, screwing his eyes shut in frustration. Why couldn't he just pick up his head? Why couldn't this just be a little easier- why did everything that ever involved Cartman become so convoluted that he literally had to look at the world upside-down whether he wanted to or not? Why was everything so twisted that—

Kyle felt the anchor in his hair suddenly become considerably lighter and he slowly righted himself as the boat magically centered itself over his head.

He opened his eyes to find Stan in his personal space. His arms were extended above their heads to support and balance the weight of the ship and he gave his best friend an ogle of absolute disbelief.

"Kyle, what the fuck are you doing?"

Kenny had died. That was no surprise. No, the surprise had come when he opened his eyes and saw an endless expanse of white and-

-Nothingness.

Purgatory. Kenny glanced around, making sure that he hadn't been dumped off short of the gates of heaven or hell by mistake. He could easily walk to either one if he could see them, but...

"Where am I?" He took off his hood and unzipped his jacket- maybe the powers that be hadn't recognized him from beneath all that padding (which would be absurd; the orange hood he always wore suited him more than his own face.)

"Hello?"

Nobody answered. That was just fine. Ken could entertain himself. He could watch television or play games or draw inappropriate pictures or…

Wait, he was in a rift of reality between cosmic extremes of paradise and eternal torment. He didn't have anything to amuse himself with besides his own guilty conscience and dirty mind.

Hmm. Maybe this wasn't so bad.

However, Kenny soon discovered that the Playboys weren't as fun when they didn't actually exist, so he disregarded his photographic memory (activated only for full-page spreads) and started to conjure up all the NASCAR races he'd ever watched into his mind's eye instead.

Funny, he could only visualize a bunch of guys making left turns- the excitement was gone, like someone had taken all the energy in the crowd and guzzled it all down in one go. NASCAR seemed kind of lame when he already knew who the winners were.

This lackluster feeling extended to more than just NASCAR and Playboy. As it turned out, everything he tried to relive had that worn-out feeling within a haze and it just felt forced, like the stunts on a one-man rendition of Jackass. What asshole had just glazed over all the fun things in life and used up all the zeal that, theoretically, should be shining through even in memory?

Kenny was that asshole, of course, and he knew it.

He was the one who had gotten so drunk off of life that he'd kind of lived it in a hangover stupor that felt like one big, long, continuous death.

But what was death? The opposite of life? Kenny didn't really _live_ anymore. He stopped doing that too long ago to really remember_._ Instead, he pulled off crazy stunts for the same reasons potheads started to branch out into other forms of narcotics; he wasn't getting enough of a buzz. No, Kenny merely _existed _and his actions became, largely, neither good nor evil.

Mysterion, for all his heroics, had been little more than an escape, after all, as had his unusual and disgusting suicide in the guise of Batman. He had followed Kyle on this most recent wedding excursion to simultaneously stop him and use him to get to the Bahamas, and he had used both motives only halfheartedly.

Kenny didn't know what he wanted, he didn't know what he needed, and he didn't even know if he had a soul with which to pursue those things with. He had no purpose and thus no joy.

Indeed, he had eroded after many runs in both sins of the flesh and selflessness for others that they had blurred together, bored him, and left him alone in a lifeless nothingness.

_And now he had to pay the price for becoming nothing._ Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Alas. Little boys at young ages cannot stew over these kinds of thoughts for long and Kenny found his mind wandering. 

…This was going to be a long and boring resurrection. Man, Jesus at least got to conquer Hell and Death when he died. Why couldn't Ken do something like that? He wanted to be a badass Superman figure- he wanted to be an adored and worshipped hero that people did all sorts of absurd shit to appease, please, and praise. So what if his normal excursions in a cape (and occasionally two pairs of underwear) were usually just a ruse? Couldn't the rest of the cosmos play along and make him a savior?

"Except," he reminded himself, "You actually have to do shit and commit yourself to be a real savior. Otherwise you're a selfish asshole vigilante."

No. Fuck that. Fuck what he just said. He didn't need crap to live for.

Anyway, he wanted a Christmas pageant about HIM, except better than his life actually was- the north star could be the Las Vegas sign, or better still, something on one of the big ol' swanky hotels and his parents could be staying in it and having fun up until the moment he popped out of his mom. And then? The shepherds would be a bunch of hot chicks or future-Mrs. Cunningham lookalikes or something, whatever, they'd all have huge boobs and so would the angels. He'd have a giant porno cast in the sky just for him- better than cheesing Heavy Metal Babes- and they'd shower him with attention and adoration and money and gold and frankincense and myrrh—

No, wait, those were the wise men. He'd have the wise men in his play be something better than the other eye-candy man-fodder he'd come up with. They needed to be more than just prime pieces of ass, like, more special than being just hot and attuned to him. After all, the wise men had stuck around for a while before they left for wherever the fuck to tell King Harold- wait, Harold was the angel. Or was it Herald? Dammit. Who gives a shit what the angels' names were! They were going to be buxom and beautiful and naked and so were the wise men. They could all be named Hergenflergenyegusonsen for all Kenny cared.

He shut his eyes and pictured his perfect Nativity story, but was disturbed to find that his three wise women were not turning out to look like what he wanted them to.

Kenny couldn't believe what he wasn't seeing as they halted their mounts before him. They were neither naked nor chicks, which clashed with what he had originally envisioned, but the real strange phenomenon was that they were three people he knew quite well.

Kyle, Stan, and Cartman hopped off of their camels (except Kyle jumped off an elephant), gifts in tow.

"Hey, dude," said the first magi, Kyle. "I brought you this gold, 'cause I figured you can use it-"

"See, Kyle? I always knew you had Jew gold!"

"Shut the hell up, Cartman, we're the wise men in this fantasy! I'm not Jewish, I'm Persian!"

"Says who? The History Channel?"

"Oh, fuck you, fatass!"

Stan shoved himself in between his quarrelsome friends. "Dudes, we're here to visit Kenny. Stop it." He held out his gift. "I brought you Frankincense. You can, like, huff it or sell it or something. I dunno. It's expensive and I thought you'd like it." He shrugged. "I dunno, use it as cologne or something." Carefully, he put the bottle (which looked suspiciously like one of the Hai Karate aftershave containers Kenny knew Stan's father used to have) at Mrs. McCormick's feet. She smiled and thanked him.

And then they all looked at Eric.

"What?"

Stan frowned. "Give him your gift, fatass."

"Oh, uh, that. Yes. Gifts for the Christ child." His considerable weight shifted from foot to foot. "I brought you a ham."

"A ham? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Shaddup, Jew boy! Don't you know about _The Best Christmas Pageant Ever?"_

"Yeah, but," Kyle paused and thought about it. "Cartman, you read?"

"Hell, no! But I saw the movie. And I thought that the ham would be more useful to a poor-as-shit family than a bunch of shitty smelling goop, too, so I copied the idea."

Although he was a bit miffed on Kenny's behalf for the "poor-as-shit" comment, Kyle calmed himself and saw the merit in Eric's thinking. "Okay, then, fatass, give him the ham."

"I, uh, don't have it."

"Why the hell not?" asked Stan, exasperation evident in his voice.

"I kind of ate it."

"WHAT?"

"Well, damn, Kyle, the wise men were travelling for, like, five years or something, right? I was fuckin' hungry!"

"Oh my God, Cartman! I-"

Kenny interrupted them. "Thanks, you guys."

The Three Stooges looked up from their squabble and nodded at him. "No problem," said Kyle.

"Yeah, you're our friend. We know we're assholes sometimes, but we really do love you, Kenny."

Cartman turned to Stan. "That sounded so gay."

"Shut up, fatass. It's not like you don't feel the same way."

And Kenny, who held some serious animosity towards Cartman, noticed that while his friend's eyes narrowed, he kept his fat mouth shut.

For Eric Cartman, silence is as good as an agreement.

Finally, Kenny nodded towards Stan and looked up at the angels filling the sky behind him. Their nude bodies had been replaced by clothed versions of his sister and brother and Chef while the rest of the town of South Park filled in for shepherds.

"I love you, too," he said, and opened his eyes to find Jesus Christ standing before him.

It turns out that sometimes the thing we need to see most is not always the thing that we want to see- at least, we deny and dread its importance and dodge it as best we can until we stop lying to ourselves and open our eyes.

Then, praise whatever powers that be, if there are any (and how many, as Cthulu and God and Buddha and Luke Skywalker and Superman and Brahma all exist simultaneously if any one of them exists), when we see what we need has been right in front of us all along, we steel ourselves, swallow our pride, come to our senses, and embrace it.

Hence why Kyle currently had his arms wrapped around Stan.

"Stan, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing, quite honestly, but I know I don't want to be doing it." He slumped over to balance the ship a little better. "Please talk me out of it and tell me I'm stupid."

"I'll tell you more than that. You're not only stupid, but hasty, loud, haughty, and a piece of shit."

"Gee, thanks."

Stan gave him a quick thump on the back before he steadied Kyle's obnoxious pompadour and helped him to a chair. "A total piece of shit, but I love you anyway, man. Let's get this damned boat out of your hair and get you out of here."

"Yeah, this ship throws everything off because it's so solidly rooted in here. I can't even walk straight."

"You're telling me," said Stan as he searched for the scissors.

"What?"

"Nothing. Maybe we can make another one of these things and have, like, ship contests."

Kyle snorted. "Let's burn it."

"Why? You know you think it's cool. I think it is, anyway." He snipped a few ribbons and set the boat (along with a few loose clumps of Jewfro) down by the bowl of fruit, bumping it and sending a few lemons and limes onto the floor.

"It's not cool when it's forced onto your head, Stan." Kyle paused. "Why the fuck is there a fruit bowl in here?"

"No idea. But let's not burn the ship- at least, not yet. We could do some cool shit with it later."

Kyle considered the little boat with its gay trimmings as he snatched his hat from it and firmly planted it back into its rightful place. "It is a really well-made model ship. It might float for a while." He clicked his tongue. I guess it isn't so bad- it has its own weird style."

As they were pensively considering their ship, Southern Belle Butters walked in and distracted them from it and its implications. "Oh, hey, Stan! Are you marrying Cartman, too?"

Stan balked and proceeded to help Kyle out of his hoop skirt. "No, he's all yours."

However important it had been for the Super Best Friends to reunite paled in comparison to Kenny's unusual experience. See, Kyle wasn't the only one who had what he needed in front of his face the whole time- Jesus Christ had been waiting for Kenny to open his eyes in purgatory for quite a while; they needed to have a heart-to-heart as well.

When Ken finally did open his eyes and noticed his Lord and Savior, he swiftly took to mirroring the little smirk on his face.

Had he seen Jesus before his own personal Christmas story in his head took place, Kenny would have been angry and demanded answers (Why did this happen? Why did this keep happening? Why did he feel so empty? Did he have a purpose? Was this whole afterlife thing just a big ruse? Did he have a soul?) But now, in this moment, Kenny felt like he knew the answers he needed to know and the rest didn't matter; those other unknowns raised their own question and it was a bigger one than Kenny could ever come up with on his own.

"What do you believe is the answer, Kenny?"

Sounds awfully frustrating, to have something so inconclusive be your reward for wrestling with the darkness and doubt within yourself. Fortunately, that is the beauty of it! Such a question of faith- that's what had arisen from Kenny's soul searches- is not only vague and annoying as hell, but also its own answer and no source but your own heart can produce it.

Well, your own heart and whatever higher power(s) you subscribe to.

Yes, the Son of God (with the Christian God being the higher power Ken was most familiar with) could also answer all of Kenny's large and small questions with definitive answers (and they would have been true- as true as the word of God could ever be as he was God and all-knowing and all-seeing and that jazz), but why would he be so unambiguous? That would make life way too easy.

And life after Adam and Eve fucked it up was not meant to be easy.

Still, Kenny believed. He believed that yes, he did have a soul and that things would, in some weird, twisted way, right itself if only he had faith in what he loved, which became his reason for living.

His reasons, rather. His friends and family. They had been creating his Mysterion-esque escapades since forever because, and Kenny knew, they had been pulling him out of whatever hellhole of damnation he kept trying to crawl into because, paradoxically, they went into it first, oblivious to the fact that Kenny was always going to do his damnedest to follow and pull them back out- or at least facilitate their escape. Kenny lived for those he loved most and if he just remembered that (how could he have ever forgotten?), everything would turn out alright.

He just had to remember the purpose he created for himself here and now. Immortality be damned, Kenny had to _believe_.

Maybe those Mormons had taught him something way back when, after all.

"Do you understand why you ended up here instead of Heaven or Hell?" Jesus asked.

"Yes."

"Do you really love them?" He was referring to the residents of South Park, Colorado, of course.

Kenny's eyes hardened. "Yes. They are why I stick around to die from other stupid shit."

"Do you believe that your efforts to keep them happy and alive will be worth it?"

"You want to know if I believe that you will save them when their time comes."

Jesus didn't say anything, but Ken knew he was right.

"I don't know about that," the young boy finally said. "But you can bet that I know you have the power to and if you don't I believe I will be so angry with you for the rest of my consecutive lifespans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I'm starting to not really give a shit about my weird powers if they let me hang around with those I love most and be a dumbass all the time. I guess keeping South Park in line is something only I can do." He gave a devious smirk. "When I feel like it."

Jesus took a more specific angle. "I guess that means Eric Cartman isn't as bad as you act like he is, is he?"

"No, you're right. He isn't as bad as I act like he is- he's worse." Jesus laughed at Kenny's assertion. "But he needs help- maybe some tough love. I've always known it."

"So he's kind of like you?"

"What?"

"Don't you think you need to step up your game and act a little bit more, um," the Son of God straightened his glowing robes and preened a little, "act "according to the example of Christ", too?"

It was Kenny's turn to laugh. "Oh, hell no. My morals can die and ascend into heaven- or descend into hell, whatever- for all I care. Fuck my Nativity fantasy. I don't want to be you. I mean, damn, I am just happy to go live with my friends in my white-bred poor-ass kick-ass mountain town or wherever we end up going. Speaking of which, I have a wedding to go to and I need to pick up my man-date. Can you have me resurrected on Stan's doorstep?"

Jesus shrugged. "Aw, why not?" Reverently, he raised Kenny's hood back over his face and put his hand onto his forehead. "Peace be with you, my child."

"And also with you," Kenny said, and when he next opened his eyes he was knocking on Stan Marsh's door with all the fury of hell. And purgatory. He felt so thankful just to be there and be alive and see Stan that he almost forgot that Kyle was across the country about to be wed in unholy matrimony of doom.

Shit. All his positive born-again thoughts kind of melted in the ugly face of reality.

He toyed with the idea of forgetting everything he'd just talked to Jesus about and letting Kyle do whatever, but he knew that, moral ascension or no, he loved his friends more than he loved doing whatever he wanted all the time with no fear of death or attachment. If anything, Kenny had renewed his faith in his purpose and his purpose was supervising the absurd lives of a group of podunk white people and the occasional Token Black.

So, he wasted no time in taking a leaf from Eric Cartman's book and manipulating Stan's cynical ass into making a trip out to New Hampshire.

He was really going to beat that asshole at his own game, and this time he kind of sort of had God on his side maybe. Okay, God and Jesus had taken no sides (he made a mental note to egg Jesus' house later just for the hell of it) and he needed to come up with a plan that would ruin the whole wedding.

His first plan had involved shotguns, but he saw all the obvious ways that could backfire and scrapped it.

His second plan turned out to be a winner, though, and it was as ingenious as it was simple.

Basically, he told Stan to walk right into the hotel room Kyle was staying in and tell him to not get married. Wow, no-brainer. Stan went right on up and, as you know, talked Kyle out of being a dumbshit tool in a one-on-one conversation.

Of course, that left Kenny his own difficult one-on-one task of dealing with Eric, who saw Kenny lead Stan right to Kyle's temporary digs.

As a result, the rotund boy was on to the orangest McCormick the instant Stan was safely within the hotel (and Kenny was blocking the door so the groom couldn't get in.)

"Really, what the FUCK are you doing?" Eric shoved his face into Kenny's and spit flew in his face as he screamed. "I thought you wanted that Bahamas trip!"

Kenny _had_, but he was now quite certain that this was not the way he wanted it to happen. He shouted back at Eric and steeled himself for the next volley of anger the fat boy could through at him.

"Damn, Kenny, what way did you want it to happen? Did you want Jesus Christ to come down and _give _you the Bahamas trip?"

That would have been nice, but things don't happen that way and Kenny—

"Things don't just happen like that, dumbass! Some of us have to actually go out and take opportunities by the balls to get what we want!"

And Kenny wouldn't know about-?

"I mean, God, Kenny! These things don't just get handed to us while we sit on our asses on the couch!" He shoved the scrawny McCormick to the ground. "We have to actually struggle for what we want sometimes!"

"And I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, Cartman?" Ken leapt to his feet- the hood was off, ladies and gentlemen, and the light above (and the sparks supplied by Cartman) lit the fire in his resolved heart.

Kenny could take it from here.

"What do you mean, po' boy? You think I don't-"

"No, Cartman, I don't. Not when it's important. You just like to use others to get whatever you want and only when it's convenient! You don't give a shit about what others want, or what others think. Or feel. It's all about you and you can't see around your own fat ass long enough to realize how you are hurting _yourself_ in your quest for self-fulfillment!"

"Y-yeah? Well, I'm getting to the Bahamas without you- I'll give you some of your people's Pabst Blue Ribbon and—no, you know what? I don't even need to spend that much on a can of beer! I can just take a dollar out of my pocket and throw it and you will just run after it and forget all about going to the Bahamas."

"I'm not that stupid, Cartman."

"Oh no? Well, prove it. See this dollar? You can have a whole shopping spree at the Dollar Tree with this. Don't you want it? Kenny? See, it's fluttering right over there, on the ground! It's a dollar! A whole dollar! Go get it!"

"Kenny? Ke-Kenny, why aren't you getting the dollar? Don't you see it? Right there?"

"It's- it's there. Kenny?"

"Kenny?"

"You still mad about how I got to be a NASCAR driver and you didn't? Well, see, Kenny, that's what I'm talking about. I _worked_ to get that poor and stupid."

"Do you think you're better than me? Is that what this is about? Because I _worked_ for what I wanted? Because I made _sacrifices_?"

"Oh, you're doing that whole Mysterion thing again. What? Are you still sore about what I did with Cthulu? Kenny, Jesus, I can't believe that you'd hold a grudge for _that_ long. It's not like you _died_ or anything!"

"Huh, Kenny?"

"Is that what this is about?"

"Kenny?"

"So, uh, don't you, uh, want that dollar?"

"Kenny?"

"Ken?"

"_Cartman. Think of someone other than yourself for once."_

With a grunt, he pulled his hood back on and made a move to go into the building after Stan but Eric wasn't done with him. He was not about to let Kenny McCormick have the last word.

He spun his impoverished friend around and punched him in the face.


	8. Til Deat Do Us Part

**_Hello and welcome to the final installment of The Moral Ascension of Kenny McCormick! The ending is perhaps the sappiest thing ever, but it's a pretty accurate reflection of my feelings on Kenny... and also on Cartman. They are two of my favorites. And really, since it's a story with a theme akin to that of Matt n' Trey's other creation, The Book of Mormon, I don't feel like the sappiness is that uncalled for. XD _**

**_I've got a large emotional attachment to Kenny in general and this fic was written more for me than anyone else, but if anyone else read it, thank you. I really hope you enjoyed it and maybe it made even you feel a little more optimistic about life in general. Oh, and specal thanks to Marcus Absent for encouraging me to finish this!_**

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><p><em>Part Eight: 'Til Death Do Us Part<em>

Eric's fist landed squarely on Kenny's teeth, but luckily the fatter boy was enough of a pushover to fail to follow through with much force. His chubby knuckles bounced off of Kenny's dry lips and the poorer boy quirked an eyebrow in condescending disbelief.

What the hell, Cartman.

Eric, whose primary offensive blows were dealt with words, mastered few other fighting techniques besides the all-important "sissy-slap" and when his fisted outburst at Kenny failed, he resorted to it.

An open hand turned Kenny's head once. Twice. And then a whole barrage molested his face until he smacked back a few times, clearly unused to being so gentle when in a fight.

Really, Ken was slapping in defense rather than anything else. It was best to play it safe- he knew he didn't have the petty, baseless, and unreasonable font of misplaced rage that true masters of the open-palm had, so he didn't stand a good chance in an all-out battle.

Man, he was sick of dealing with all this- the taming of this shrew usually fell to Kyle, but the Jew wasn't currently available for ass-kicking. Eric had institutionalized him, apparently, so any chance of the reddest headed Jew magically appearing and slapping Eric into submission was—

-zero percent! Kyle rammed Cartman with a model ship instead!

Kenny stood, bewildered, behind the ship-turned-battering ram held suspended by none other than South Park's most notorious dynamic duo. They must've been coming downstairs when push came to punch and Eric assaulted Kenny.

"Dammit, you fat asshole! I can't believe you almost had me marry you!" Kyle stormed over and straddled the fatter boy as best he could without performing a split, Stan trailing behind, and loomed like an iceberg before the Titanic. "Do you even KNOW how ridiculous this all is?"

Eric struggled to sit up so he could see Kyle's face over his girth. "I dunno, you agreed to it! So I guess it wasn't that ridiculous to you, now was it? This was all your choice, Madame du Pompadour!"

"That is bullshit! I only agreed to it after you backed me into a corner and gave me no other choice! I dunno why I listened to you, but if you think that I'm actually going to marry you and parade around with this goddamned ship on my head, then you've got another thing coming!"

"Yeah, well, you know you still want to go to the Bahamas. Why else would you still be holding onto the ship, then, Kyle? You know you are going to marry me."

"The hell I will!"

"The hell you won't!"

"Fatass, this ship now belongs to Stan and I. We can do whatever we want with it!"

Eric crossed his arms. "Oh, are you going to go play pirate with it? Plundering booty and all that? 'Cause that's sooooo much better than going to the Bahamas!"

"Sure, the Bahamas would have been cool, but at what cost?" Stan interjected. "I wouldn't marry you even if I got a free Iphone out of it."

"I wouldn't marry you for a free Iphone, either, Stan. You're kind of a hippie pussy sometimes." Stan scowled but Eric ignored him. "I mean, even the others think so. Right, guys?"

Kenny had to bite his lip to keep from agreeing. Stan could be a total bitch when he wanted to be, but he was still a good friend that Ken wouldn't trade for the world.

"Look, nobody's perfect, Cartman," Stan reasoned. "And we all have our own shit to deal with. But you know what? That's part of why we all stick together. It's… it's kind of like marriage, but there's no sex and nobody is arguing about laundry and food and money and kids all the time. So sticking by friends is even better than marriage, I guess. And it's not about Bahama trips or forcing somebody to do something that isn't good for them."

"Especially when it involves making someone dress in drag against their will," Kyle grumbled.

"Yeah. That. But anyway," Stan shifted the weight of the boat in his arms, "Kyle, I'm really sorry that I didn't try to talk you out of doing this shit earlier. I guess I got a little testy since my parents have marriage issues and stuff, but I'm really glad that you aren't actually desecrating weddings on TV anymore. And Cartman, you're a fat asshole but I'd appreciate it if you didn't make yourself or Butters go through with this, either. I guess what I want to say is, well," he turned and looked at Kenny, who gave him a nod. "You guys are my friends and even though I do stupid shit and act like a total douche a whole lot, I really do care about you and want the best for you. Watching you guys almost go through with this was pretty fucking sick. I mean, getting married? To each other? At ten? That's some pretty fucked up shit right there. When Kenny came to me and told me what was going on, I realized that I love you guys and would do anything for you, so I came to stop you. My own selfishness should never get in the way of what's really important."

Kenny smiled despite himself and scuffed his feet. He and Stan- maybe Jesus had come to both of them at the same time because they had both arrived at the same conclusion in their moments of crisis. Even though his issues were much weirder and more alienating, Kenny knew that he and Stan saw a lot of things the same way and this was one of them.

Everyone in Kenny's life was important to him and so long as he had them, the thought of dying and resurrecting didn't seem so bad because he could truly protect them like no other could. If he had a soul—oh, he didn't even care about those questions anymore. The peace within himself sprouted when he realized his purpose really was in guarding those around him, in ways both big and small. Stick with them through thick and thin. True, he was still curious as to the nuances of his particular situation, but the forgiveness and love blossoming in his heart eroded his angst and damnation of his fate and he felt like those things weren't as important. Even if he didn't get to play the adored hero all the time, that didn't matter. His precious people of South Park were the cornerstone for his regained faith and—

"Gay," Cartman commented. "You guys are gonna be butt pirates because you are too lame to get your hands a little dirty when claiming what you want!"

"GOD, Cartman, are you really this much of a bastard?" The gingerhead snapped.

But Kyle, we were so close! We could've gone there and eaten all the poutine we wanted! Poutine!" Kyle regarded Eric like an insect. He shrugged and changed his approach. "Oh, well. Guess it's just all for me and Butters, then."

Something in Kyle's demeanor changed as he tilted his chin to the sky and regarded Eric with dark eyes. "Know what I think about that poutine?" He hissed and turned to Stan. "Nobody needs it. Let them eat _cake_."

Even Kenny had to wince as the two boys unceremoniously dropped the model ship on top of Cartman's lower abdomen and unmentionable male parts.

Yeowch.

Kyle and Stan, now free of their load, sauntered off in the direction of the hotel pool. "And you've gotta be the one to explain to the WHOLE WORLD why we aren't getting married!" Kyle shouted.

"Fuck you! Assholes!" Cartman squirmed and writhed beneath the boat, but it didn't shift. It was quite solidly anchored within his rolls. "Kenny!" he called. "Kenny! Ken! Please, I need your help!"

Kenny lumbered over to his fallen peer and looked down at him. "What." It wasn't a question as much as a recital of routine lines in a weekly comedy skit.

"Kenny… Kenny… I need… you…"

With a sigh, the blonde boy dragged the boat off of Eric's crotch and sat down next to him.

"So," the backstage hero started, tugging at the folds of orange fabric around his neck, "I take it you haven't learned a thing."

"No!" shouted Eric, "I learned that Kyle is a filthy bitch who won't follow through! And YOU! You just up and left me to go cry for Stan! That's why all of this happened!" The stout boy went for Kenny, but he wasn't quick enough to get up before his victim scraped the enormous model ship over the pavement so that the rudder rammed against his groin and the prow lanced his stomach.

Eric screamed like a baby and put his arms down, so Kenny moved it back. "YOU-!" he shouted, going for Ken again. Kenny just rammed the ship once more to stop him, like a child pushing a toy truck back and forth.

This cycle went on for some time until Eric finally got the message and just stayed down, defeated.

And honestly, Kenny couldn't say that he didn't enjoy causing Eric pain. It paled in comparison to the grief he'd given everyone else over the years, but it was still a satisfying payback.

"Like I was saying," Kenny picked up where he left off, "You don't feel the least bit sorry about any of the trouble you've caused, do you?"

"Not much! And I wouldn't feel ANY if I didn't just have a bunch of wood that wasn't mine all up in my business!"

Kenny couldn't stifle his laughter.

"Oh, you think it's funny, do you?" Even though he wasn't moving, Eric's fire still burned. "All you assholes like to watch me fail and fall flat on my ass!"

"Well, yeah, Cartman. We do. 'Cause you're always such a jerk. I mean, you give us all this shit and that's what makes your comeuppance so satisfying." He toyed with the idea of using the boat to illustrate his point, but held off.

"Oh. So I'm the bad guy."

"Yes. We've been over this. Don't start being the Coon now- it's totally uncalled for."

"You're the one acting like the damned back-alley police. Has it ever occurred to you that I do this shit 'cause I'm bored?"

"No. You're Cartman. You do it only if the payoff is worth more than the effort it took for you to do anything but be a slug. If it were up to you, all you'd do is sit on your ass, eat, watch TV, eat more, and go to sleep and do it over again. You've been pretty happy with that for years."

"Yeah? Well, it's pretty purposeless. My schemes are purposeless, too, fuck what you think. I do the same routine over and over and over and then I do stuff like this- stuff to gain something, to go somewhere, and not just 'cause there's something in it for me. Although if there isn't then that's just stupid. But I make all these awesome plans and then they all go up in smoke. Or they sink," he said, eyeing the ship. "But if I stop and try and do things the "right" way, I'll start thinking about how useless it all is and it just won't be as fun."

Kenny was struck. "Are you telling me that you actually have a conscience, but you just ignore it because then you'd feel… lost?"

"Aw, shut up, Kenny, you just don't get it. You're the fucking Dark Horse hero. Always saving the day when it's convenient. You don't know any of what I'm talking about." Eric sat up and regarded him with narrowed eyes. "You just keep on acting like I'm the scum of the earth and let me play my games of madness. This and watching people less fortunate than I am is how I don't just completely give up. I'll get to the Bahamas one day. And then who will stop me when I decide that I'm going to go somewhere better? You, obviously, and that's fine 'cause you are the one that just doesn't get it. I just don't acknowledge."

Clumsily, the bitter groom got to his feet and skulked off, leaving a bewildered Kenny hoodless and speechless.

Eric Cartman wasn't simple. Kenny had always known that. He didn't realize, however, that Eric's problem was that he just couldn't empathize- he didn't have whatever it was that made normal people see similarities in their life situations and complexes and those of other people. He didn't know what Kenny clung to like a drowning Titanic passenger portrayed in an overrated romance flick to a floating door. He didn't see that people, and mercy, and understanding, and hope, and love and humanity defined and defied all reason.

Whatever it was Kenny McCormick had learned, Eric Cartman wasn't able to.

The thing Kenny felt for Eric wasn't animosity so much as it was pity. He couldn't stay angry with him, nor could he think of a way to reach him in this moment in time. It had always been like this. It was even written out in Kenny's will.

He watched Eric's form disappear in the direction of the film crew and decided that whatever cockamamie story he cooked up would be fine, even if it got them into more trouble. And as much of an ass as he was (and as much of an ass that he had), Kenny knew that Eric was included in the people he loved, even if he didn't want to admit it.

So Kenny's devotion had won today instead of Eric's passive anger.

As he made his way to the pool to join Stan and Kyle, Kenny ran into the Southern Belle Butters and helped him to his feet. "C'mon, we're going skinny dipping in the pool."

"And I'm invited? Hamburgers!" he wrapped his arms around Kenny's elbow and followed. "I'm gonna be grounded anyways, so what the hell!"

Ken quirked an eyebrow at the incredibly homosexual implications of him escorting Butters, but the crossdressing boy's oblivious face got across Kenny's attitude about it: They were ten and they both needed some kind of support after the hell of dealing with reality television.

Weddings on TV. Really, how much more absurd stressful can one make a situation?

Justice was served. Eric told the television crew that all the other kids had mysteriously died and so nobody was getting married. The company then awarded the honeymoon prize to the Cunninghams. Craig and Thomas were pissed and used that as grounds to file for a divorce.

All the boys got grounded. So they were all pissed, too.

Butters kept the Southern Belle Dress so that he could put a doll in it to play the "damsel in distress" whenever he needed one in his "Professor Chaos" games. Or when anyone needed "Marjorine" to dress up.

Cartman sat in his living room and watched Terrance and Phillip.

Stan frequently snuck out of his house and joined him.

And Kyle broke the sound barrier when he confronted Eric about the fact that it took about the same amount of money to go through with their crazy marriage contest scheme as it would have to just buy a trip to the Bahamas the normal way.

Then everyone was not only pissed, but felt extremely stupid.

Except Kenny. He'd learned a lot on his little adventure and as weird as it was, it gave him a little peace to know that he was lucky enough to deal with THIS kind of shit rather than the droll monotony of a purposeless life. He didn't know what hurdles were ahead, but he felt like maybe he could overcome them even if he didn't know his origins right now.

He'd kind of been the only one to get married- he was sort of married to his purpose, he decided. 'Til Death Do They Part.

Not that the citizens of South Park would know so overtly. But he was always there, in the background, waiting for when he was most needed.

And for now, that was enough.


End file.
